


Sinnerman

by AntlerSister



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: 2nd person POV, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 12:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21410422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntlerSister/pseuds/AntlerSister
Summary: He never wanted to be a father, that's why he gave you up.But you were never a very good listener, right Nero?
Relationships: Dante/Nero (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Sinnerman

This isn’t how it was supposed to be. Every fantasy that you dreamt of had never even come close to this.

Your thoughts were always innocent and boyish. Dreaming of playing catch and stories being read before bedtime. Staying in and ordering pizza, or going to the movies and smuggling in popcorn and drinks in that giant red trench coat that had pockets so deep your arms could get lost in them.

That was all that you had really wanted. Smiles and ruffled hair, band-aids over scraped knees and forehead kisses. Because that’s what a father was supposed to do, at least, that’s what you had always believed.

Growing up alone, you had only your imagination for company. Being the stupid little kid that you were, you were _so _convinced, that any day now, your old man would swoop in and save you from the hell of foster care. That fucked up system filled with pretend-families and pretend-love.

Because all your life you’ve been aching for the real thing.

No, you told your new placement every time you were asked, your dad wasn’t dead. He wasn’t in prison or locked up in some psyche ward…

He just didn’t want you, that’s all.

So you really should have taken that hint when you showed up unannounced on his doorstep. You had nothing on you but a backpack with some dirty clothes and his address written on a stained napkin from a diner two streets over.

“Uhhhh,” Was the heartfelt introduction between father and son that was sure to reduce any eyewitness to tears. You two just stared at each other like the gaping-mouthed idiots that you were, him scratching his head and you rubbing your nose like you were trying not to catch a cold.

“Hi,” Was all that you said.

And that was it.

Maybe it was his conscience or the guilt that had built up over the years of not being there for you. He told you to throw your bag wherever and let you crash on his couch, free of charge of course, and it was exactly as 18-year-old you thought it would be.

Which is, to put it lightly, a major fucking disappointment.

The place was a wreck, a dump, rats and roaches shouldn’t be allowed in there. You tried to make yourself comfortable, told yourself that this was really what you had wanted all your life, dreamt about and made up stories for night after night after night.

“Make yourself at home, toilets in the back.” Was what your father, yes, father, had said to you when you forced yourself to settle down onto that grimy old couch. You looked over at him and tried to smile, to twist your lips into some kind of friendly expression, but it just made you feel sick to your stomach. And Dante, this grizzled man, this sperm donor piece of shit, who should never have been allowed to breathe, let alone breed, just left you there alone without saying anything else.

And for the first time in your life you realized that you really were better off without him.

* * *

Those first few days you snooped around the place, tried to get a feel for everything and maybe clean out some of the worthless shit that made it nearly impossible to walk without tripping. Dante (or was it Dad? He never told you what to call him) just stayed out of your way and sat at his desk, reading porn magazines and eating greasy leftovers out of the nearest cardboard box.

Dirtier than any pig, you wondered how he managed to live so long, or at least trick your mom into sleeping with him. You still hadn’t gotten around to asking about her, and wondered if you ever would grow the guts to do so. What was she like? You wanted to ask him. But every time you thought you had gathered up enough courage, you would turn to him to find him licking his fingers or making stupid faces at his magazines, and drop the subject entirely, wondering why you even bothered with any of that shit in the first place.

She must’ve been desperate, you thought, real desperate.

Either that or fucked in the head.

Dante wasn’t like a father, didn’t act like one or want to be one. (Of fucking course, that’s why he gave you up in the first place) He was more like a roommate, a roommate who liked to walk around butt-naked and shower with the door wide open.

He was well-built and at least took care of himself physically; doing hundreds of sit-ups and push-ups every morning. Sometimes you caught yourself staring, but you told yourself that it was out of admiration and nothing else. The hair on his chest and his sculpted abs, his heavy breathing as sweat made his hair stick to his skin; you had to give credit where credit was due. 

Yeah, yeah that was it.

He was a roommate, or maybe a friend, (God knows that you needed one of those too) a friend who took you to his favorite bar and stuffed you full of booze until you could hardly think or walk, your tongue, as thick as glue, lolling in the back of your throat, you had to fight to keep from choking. He just smiled as he threw your arm over his shoulder and dragged you out of the bar, laughing like it was the best night of his life.

“You’re a lightweight kid…”

“Fuck you, old man…” You said or at least think you said, swallowing over and over again to keep from puking.

He got you home (home?) and everything was dark, the light switches didn’t work and you knew it was because the dumbass forgot to pay the electric bill again.

Struggling to get to the couch, you started to talk. It was only with the help of the liquid courage could you say the things that you really wanted to say, ask the questions that had been burning in your throat since the day you walked through those doors.

Dante tried to talk over you, to get you to stop, but you just kept droning on. Asking about mom, asking him why he didn’t want you. Why he had never visited or at least called you on your birthday growing up.

“Nero stop,” He set you down and told you to take it easy, but you grabbed him by his shirt and wouldn’t let go. You kept talking to him, kept accusing him of the misery in your childhood. You were smashed, drunk as hell, and you don’t know why you did what happened next, or why Dante (Dad? Pop? Father?) had allowed it.

He was just as guilty as you…

There was no logic to it. No rhyme or reason. It was just convenient, you like to think.

You kissed him and he tried to push you away but you were so stubborn. You wouldn’t leave him alone, staggering after him when he got up from the couch, grabbing at his clothes until you had him against the pool table. He kept saying your name with tears in his eyes and you kept saying his against his chin and cheek; his stubble scratching your skin like sandpaper. “C’mon, c’mon,” You kept saying until he finally relented and kissed you back and it didn’t stop at that. Then your mouths were open and you felt his tongue and his hand down your pants and everything went dark. Love died, god died, and the man you knew as Dante went from father to lover.

As he had you down on the pool table, you wanted to ask him, was it like this with mom?

Then he pulled your pants off and you pulled his down to his ankles, his dick already hard and so fucking huge. When he put it in he didn’t take his time, didn’t even use any lube he was so drunk and sloppy. You grabbed at his shoulders and held on like you were going to fall, gasping in his ear like a slut and clenching around him to hear what kind of sound he would make.

Dante, your father, fucked hard you and you liked it. Made you whine and whimper and call him ‘daddy’ more than once. 

And then you woke up the next morning and was too afraid to open your eyes.

You knew what you did.

Was this what you really wanted?


End file.
